Changing Rooms
by Sunday Rain
Summary: [Chap4, wherein Rory imitates stuffy Hartford socialites and anothe favour is asked.] Lane decorates people's hearts as she decorates their houses.
1. Matchmaker, matchmaker

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Author: Sunday Rain

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Rating: PG-13 

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Spoilers: May contain spoilers for the second season. 

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Disclaimer: Don't own the characters you recognise from the show. Based on a story by Sophie Kinsella called _Changing People_, and ASP and the people who own Gilmore Girls own GG. 

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Summary: Lane decorates people's hearts as she decorates their houses.

Changing Rooms

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Matchmaker, matchmaker

"Absolutely, no!" I jumped off the sofa, nearly spilling stir-fried chicken all over the oriental silk print. As an added measure, in case the person I was screaming at was deaf, I screamed again, "No!"

"Awww…come on, Rory," my friend Lane pleaded. She scooted over nearer to me and put on her puppy-dog face, something that at the age of sixteen I could never say no to but now at the ago of twenty-six have learnt to ignore. "It'll be fun, I promise. Besides, who's it gonna hurt anyway?"

I choked on rice. Coughing, I stared at my friend incredulously. "Who's it gonna hurt?" I repeated, after swallowing a couple of gulps of red wine. "Lane, this has got to stop. Every single time you get a 'hot' male bachelor client, you always 'nudge nudge wink wink' me and him together. And it hasn't worked so far!"

"But this guy could be _the_ guy," Lane said.

I groaned. 

It all started years ago, when my crazy best friend Lane decided to change her college major from something along the lines of government into something more along the lines of her mother's business (to her mother's chagrin, of course)—interior decorating. (OK, so it was more upper-class than her mother's furniture store but…). Don't get me wrong, Lane now has her own boutique/studio/successful and lucrative business, but…somehow she always seems to include matchmaking as an added "bonus" to her work. Bonus for the people she matched up successfully, which, at latest count was two (a sixty year old stockbroker with a b-movie actress—surprised they're still together); but it was definitely no bonus for me, because I was the person she always wanted to match up with someone.

And as of now, obviously, no matchmaking scheme had worked, considering I'm still living in this little dump of a flat (ok, maybe it's a pretty fancy schmancy dump of a flat—thanks to Lane's career—but it still costs an outrageous amount for the fanciness of it) with Lane.

I don't even know how I manage to get sucked in to her little ideas. It was easy for her, I'm not really a matchmaker kind of girl, plus my job didn't really require me to get in contact with any hot bachelor guys to set up with her. Sometimes being a journalist sucked. Old guys, married guys, workaholic guys, nerds. None of them for me. And so I got stuck being set up by my best friend with rich asses who had nothing to do with their time (or their hands, might I add, after being on dates with a few) or their money than to look for fresh _chicks_.

"Arrrgh!" 

"Please?"

"Not a word of this to my mother, Lane," I warned her. God, what Lorelai would say. Well, knowing my mom she would just laugh and laugh and laugh and not stop laughing unless she ran out of coffee. "You know what happened to the last guy…"

"Brian?" Lane asked. Then, she leaned over secretively, "Oh, speaking of which, did you hear? He's … well, he's… a Boy George fan." 

I threw a pillow at her. "See? Your matchmaking-Rory-with-guy-of-her-dreams has so far been very unsuccessful!" I sighed, "Just…try to at least make it worth my while this time, yeah?"

Lane giggled with glee. "So you're game?" I shrugged wearily. "Right on sister!" She rubbed her hands excitedly. "OK, so…this guy—he is _hot_!"

"Mrrrf," I plopped a pillow into my face and briefly considered death by pillow. 

Anything to get out of this.


	2. Oh, those supermodels

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Author: Sunday Rain

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Rating: PG-13 

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Spoilers: May contain spoilers for the second season. 

****

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters you recognise from the show. Based on a story by Sophie Kinsella called _Changing People_, and ASP and the people who own Gilmore Girls own GG. 

****

Summary: Lane decorates people's hearts as she decorates their houses.

Changing Rooms

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Oh, those supermodels

And that's how I ended up reluctantly tagging along to Lane's first official meeting with her new client. On a Saturday, nonetheless! A surprise to me, as most of her meetings were usually lunches, dinners or brunches on weekdays, which were the power-players' only time off for things like that—they usually liked to rest on weekends at their retreats on Martha's Vineyard or wherever. 

I had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with the fact that she was making sure I wouldn't all of a sudden get a phone call from Dave or Mary at the office, and have to "sneak out" because of "emergencies that a came up at work demanding my immediate attention." Why does she know me _that _well? I grumbled silently to myself.

Lane pulled up in front of a landmark brownstone. Now I know these apartments cost a bundle. This guy must be _filthy_ rich… 

After locating Apartment 4 (which was really not that difficult seeing as there were a total of six tenants in this place), we stood in front of the big oak doors on the floor we were directed toward (the only doors on the floor) and waited for someone to answer the doorbell.

"Lane," I began to say, before it was too late and someone actually did answer it, "Are you sure—"

"No," Lane cut me off rather quickly.

"But—"

"Rory."

"No, seriously, what is my purpose here?"

"You are here as my personal assistant," Lane answered matter-of-factly.

"You planned this out thoroughly," I said, rather impressed despite the situation.

"Thank you," Lane nodded at me smugly. 

Just then, the door to the place opened, and we quickly gathered ourselves together and put on our business smiles—wide toothy grins plastered to our faces. We turned toward the door and…

Out stepped a six-foot leggy blonde model.

I could swear I could hear Lane's jaw drop to the floor with a thud. I also could swear I recognised her from somewhere…

"Yes?"

"Uhm, uhm, uhm," Lane tried to compose herself from the initial shock. "Oh, I'm sorry, I must have the wrong apartment, I uhm, I'm looking for a Mr. Tristan DuGrey."

Whoa. Hold up. What? Who? Tristan… DuGrey? I was about to ask Lane to repeat the name, when Barbie opened her mouth to speak.

"Oh! Yes, you do have the right place," she said, smiling. She had a pretty smile. Not fair. I suddenly felt very inadequate. So Lane's initial prediction of this matchmaking thing was shot down in the last minute. Yay, score for me. But my curiosity was still there. DuGrey? I tuned back in to hear the walking Barbie still talking to Lane.

"Are you Lane Kim? The interior designer?" 

Lane straightened up a little higher, "Yes I am. Nice to meet you…"

"Alana Simmons," she lifted her arm up for a handshake. Alana Simmons! Aha! Supermodel and current fashion-icon It-girl. I should know, Trish from Fashion wrote articles after articles around this girl. "Please come in, Ms. Kim, and…" she turned toward me. 

"Oh! Lorelai Hayden," I quickly said, taking her hand and shaking it. Lane gave me a funny look. With my eyes I tried to convey the best I could that I'd explain later.

"Ms. Hayden," Alana smiled at me and made room so that we could pass through her in the doorway, not that she had to move much. She could've just stayed smack dab in the middle and there would have been enough room for an elephant to pass through, she was _that_ thin.

Once inside with the door closed, we took in the elegant furnishings of the foyer. Why would anyone need this redecorated? It was fine as it was.

"Sorry about the confusion," Alana explained, "Tristan told me you were coming, and since this whole thing was my idea, he just split." 

She laughed a high-pitched girly laugh, complete with hair tossing. Oh this was too much. Much too much stereotypes of models were being proven. I didn't know how I could possibly manage to contain my laughter for the next hour. Lane glared at me. I suppressed my giggle.

"He hates anything to do with decorating, thinks its much to feminine for him," she continued. Then Alana gestured around the apartment. "As you can see, it definitely needs redecorating."

Huh? It looked pretty nice too me. I could tell Lane agreed with me as well.

Lane interrupted the supermodel's spiel. "What exactly do you want me to redecorate? This place looks quite amazing, if I must say."

Alana frowned slightly. "Well, I know it does but it looks so…frumpy. I want to spruce up the place a bit, modernize it. Its much too 'old-money' for me if you know what I mean? Tristan's parents were the ones who decorated this place, if you couldn't have guessed. The DuGreys are rather 'old-money'."

Lane, being, well, the not so subtle Lane jumped in with another question, "Sorry Ms. Simmons—"

"Alana."

"Alana," Lane repeated, "Are you and Mr. DuGrey…"

"Oh, we're dating," she smiled, waving her hand as if it were no big deal. "I've only just moved in, but… You know, we've been dating quite awhile and the next logical step is… You _know_," she gestured to her hands which were currently devoid of any article of jewelry. "So before that, I want to make this place my home as well… So I managed to convince Tristan to let me redecorate it!" She beamed proudly at us.

"Well then," Lane shrugged. "Lets get started shall we?"

"Yes! I can't wait!" Alana exclaimed gleefully. "I was thinking…feminine, girly. Modern furnishings but with warm touches… Like… furry carpets. And pink. I love pink. Shades of pink and blue…Some feminine touches. Not old world maps and paintings."

Lane whipped out her notepad and began scribbling furiously. I leaned over to see what she had written; _Barbie's Modern Fairy-Tale Castle_. 

That did it. I could hardly contain my snort of disgust and amusement. Can you even be disgusted and amused at the same time?

At that Alana stopped and looked at me as if the noise that I just produced was indignified and rude. "Are you okay? Do you need a drink or something?" she asked me.

"Oh, no no no," I said. But just to pitch in my two scents, "Why don't you drape the mantlepiece with a velvet pink brocade and cover the top with candles and scents… The coloured ones. Give it colour and aroma."

Lane stopped scribbling to glare at me again for the third time. I shrugged at her, this was _her idea_ for me to come here. I was just joining in the fun. 

Alana's cheeks coloured with excitement. "Oh my gosh! That is a totally brilliant idea! I love it…You're genius…Lane, she's genius!" She pointed at me and was just this close to hopping up and down on her elegantly manicured toes. Then she stopped abruptly. "What is it exactly that you do?"

"Oh, I'm Lane's personal assistant and placement consultant," I said. I couldn't help adding that last bit. At the corner of my eye I could see Lane just about to kill me.

"Uh, what exactly is a placement consultant?"

"Oh, I consult on which _objets_ to place where for the effect _parfait_," I said with a touch of elegance.

Alana looked at me, confused, but she shrugged and smiled. "Wow, interesting. You learn something new everyday! Anyway, now this is just this room, but I want you to see the rest of the place so you'll know what challenge you'll be facing." And with that she swept out of the room and left us to trail after her like lost puppies.

"I swear to God if this wasn't a lucrative client I'd pummel you right here and now," Lane hissed, as she passed me.

"Hey, don't blame me, this was _your_ idea," I smiled innocently and followed.


	3. Oh, you and your positivity

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Author: Sunday Rain

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Rating: PG-13 

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Spoilers: May contain spoilers for the second season. 

****

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters you recognise from the show. Based on a story by Sophie Kinsella called _Changing People_, and ASP and the people who own Gilmore Girls own GG. 

****

Summary: Lane decorates people's hearts as she decorates their houses.

Changing Rooms

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Oh you and you positivity

"OK, we're out, now why don't you tell me why you were acting all weird up there," Lane said, as we stepped out onto the pavement an hour later. She stood by the curb and hailed a cab.

I shrugged, "Weird? Sorry, but she was just too funny, Lane."

"Oh come on, that's not what I mean," Lane sighed. "Granted, yes she's rather the epitome of the Matel's creation, but I mean the whole 'Hey, I'm Lorelai Hayden' stunt you pulled. What the heck was that?"

I didn't really want to say anything to her, hoping that the little comment might have just been attributed to a slip up on my part, or a misheard comment on hers. So I was a little reluctant to explain that Tristan DuGrey was the boy that harrased me in high school, who kissed me while we were both in a state of heartbreak and then left without a trace never to be heard from again. Not that she hadn't heard all this anyway, but it was just so long ago I didn't want to dig up old memories.

"Oy," Lane said, snapping her fingers in my face. She yanked me into the taxicab she had hailed. "To Fifth Avenue, please."

"Where we going?"

"To lunch," Lane said, settling back into her seat. "You have much to tell me, grasshopper."

I sighed.

And over an expensive, yet tasteful, lunch at a swanky Fifth Avenue bistro, I was forced to tell Lane that Mr. Tristan DuGrey was the guy who made me feel so guilty after my breakup with Dean oh so many years ago.

"But Lorelai Hayden?" Lane asked, digging into her cheese souffle.

"I didn't want to say anything startling." I said.

"Lame answer."

I sighed, "OK, I don't know. I guess I just don't want Tristan to know I'm sort of in his life again. He wasn't exactly the nicest person around."

"He so wanted you!" Lane exclaimed.

"You never even met him, Lane," I reminded her.

"So? I hear descriptions, stories."

"From who?" 

"You."

"Hah." I snorted. "So?"

"So?" Lane looked at me incredulously. "What do you mean 'So?' So, this guy could definitely be _the_ guy."

"Uhm, I hate to burst your bubble, but in the world we live in, uhm _reality_, Mr. DuGrey has a girlfriend."

"She's not his type," Lane dismissed with a wave of her hand. "He'll see you, and see just what he's missing and fall head over heels in love again."

"Lane, shut up," I rolled my eyes and took another bite of my salad. "You're imagining things and disturbing me greatly."

"Fine," Lane said. "But you just wait. You'll win him over." I looked at her pointedly. "OK, I mean, I'll win him over for you."

"We like Barbie. Remember? She's paying your salary…"

"Ah, she probably won't know what hit her pretty little blonde head," Lane giggled.

"You're mean."

"I'm wicked," Lane said, with a gleam in her eye. "But you love me baby."

I had to laugh. You had to give Lane that, she was the most positive chick I knew, doing the things she set her mind to all the way to the end. Determined, focused, optimistic and just a tiny bit sneaky.

"So… Barbie's Modern Fairy Tale Castle?" I said, raising my eyebrow.

Lane shrugged. "Rich people are weird."


	4. She's no Martha Stewart

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Author: Sunday Rain

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Rating: PG-13 

****

Spoilers: May contain spoilers for the second season. 

****

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters you recognise from the show. Based on a story by Sophie Kinsella called _Changing People_, and ASP and the people who own Gilmore Girls. 

****

Summary: Lane decorates people's hearts as she decorates their houses. Wherein Rory imitates stuffy Hartford socialites and another favour is asked.

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A/N: Took awhile but here's the new installment.

Changing Rooms

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She's no Martha Stewart

Lane plopped down on the bed. "I need a favour."

"No, sorry, the last favour I did for you I had to lie and make an ass out of myself in front of Claudia Schiffer's thinner twin."

It had been about three months since the strange Barbie event, and I hadn't been dragged into Lane's business since then, oddly enough. I had been waiting for something like this to happen.

"Oh come on, Ror," Lane said. "It's not like anything's going to happen to you. I mean, this guy has not been in your life in forever. You could do with some reconnecting with past high schoolers."

"Have you met anyone from Chilton?" I asked, incredulously, "Those people were insane society pish posh mumbo jumbo, absolutely spiffing to meet you, my darlings, have you seen Corky McCorwin's new botched job? It looks positively hideous! Would you like some more to drink? Heavy on the whisky, darling. They were mini-Paris Hiltons, with nowhere to go on a Saturday night." 

"Hey, you forget, I dated Henry for awhile there…"

"See, now, that's the part I still can't figure out. This guy spent thirteen years at Chilton, and he came out normal," I said, stretching from my hunched over position editing my current article, "Bet you it was a first for Chilton."

"I think it has something to do with the Korean-American family life. The two extreme polar opposites probably cancel each other out. Like magnets." Lane nodded matter-of-factly.

"Huh."

Lane bounced on the bed, scattering my papers. I grunted in annoyance, but she just brushed me off. "So, back to my issue, here. I need to rewallpaper the entire place, starting room by room of course. But the problem is, the thing she wants is really…delicate, I mean, it was made for that place—cost a shitload, by the way—so I really don't want to hire some random wallpaper guy. Plus, more money for me!" She cackled gleefully, "But, I can't do it on my own… And I thought, hey, Rory is my best friend, she's lovely, and she loves me and she loves that she's living in my apartment—"

"Resorting to blackmail, already?" I asked, impressed and amused.

"Yeah, well, I'm desperate," she shrugged, "The faster I get this done, the sooner I can wash my hands of her high pitched trilly laugh. As if I care what happened to her at the Marc Jacob's fashion show."

"Oh, yeah when she had to wear the—"

"Rory."

"Sorry."

"Anyway, so?"

I eyed her warily.

"And don't worry, if you're all overly freakish about running into Mr. Tristan DuGrey, he's out of town. In fact he's been out of town for like…a long time," Lane said, "He called me, we met once—I can't believe you never mentioned that you met one of the most good-looking, _straight_, guys this side of the meridian, by the way—and off he went. Milan, or Vienna, or Paris, or…Liverpool. Or something."

I considered her statement.

"Besides, why are you so nervous about meeting this guy? It's not like I'm asking you to make a long term relationship, let alone friendship, geez, Ror. You may as well consider him married, considering how it seems that our Alana Simmons has her wrapped around her finger."

"Really?"

"Well, no, but she just goes on and on… How he can stand her, he must either be whacked, or whipped or just…never there. And I honestly think it's the latter. He went to Chilton, how dumb can he be?" 

She was babbling. When Lane gets like this, it's honestly best just to continue on whatever you were doing because it could be forever. I, not too obviously, picked up my papers and tried to resume my work—

"Hey. You never answered," she huffed.

"Huh? Yeah, all right, whatever."

"Yay!"

"But remember, I'm no Martha Stewart."

"Honey, nobody can forget that. Its all I can think of when I see you standing over a stove… My initial reaction is always, 'Oh, no! We're all gonna die.' Then my second one is, 'Alert! Remove intruder! Intruder is incapable of make chili from a can!' Anyway, it's just wallpaper. There're rulers and everything."

"Leave now before I resort to violence, and let me just say that chili thing was just a one time thing."

"Yeah, the one and _only _time you attempted it, anyway."

"Well, I'm a fast learner."

"That's always good."


End file.
